


Devil's Daughter

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Series: Charlie Verse! [14]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Kid Fic, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Locus has an alien sword. Alien swords tend to come with baby bonuses. </p><p>In where Locus has a daughter. This installment:</p><p>On Charlie and her Father’s Legacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Tea for the original prompt which was- Charlie doesn't understand why she can't live with her daddy anymore. Why does he have to stay in the metal place? Why can't she stay with him?

Her name is Charlie and she’s the daughter of a war criminal.

She’s a lot of things besides that, things that should hold more attention than her human heritage. She’s the second half-human, half-elite hybrid, the second half-human alien to the Sangheili people (not that they know that), one of the two people in the world who can carry the sword of power. She’s a skilled sword fighter, practiced from years of dueling with Junior of all people. She’s old enough to join the UNSC if she wanted to, something the organization seems highly aware of considering how often they send her offers to join. All things considered, she has enough potential on her own at seventeen for the universe to see her for what she is, instead of where she comes from.

The universe sees things differently.

* * *

Charlie is almost six when her father goes to prison.

Everything considered, the actual arrest goes smooth enough. Fresh from being rescued from a man who will make her terrified of the color orange for years to come, the whole event goes over her head, still too shell shocked to take on the world around her. She can remember hushed voices as her father and his comrades retrieved her from the base she was being held, the smell of her baby blanket wrapped around her like armor, the voice of Locus above her, as calm as ever.

“It’s alright. You’re alright.”

After that, events blur. Red and Blue armor. A teenager who is just like her but big. Her father sitting next to her at all times, the same gauntlets she used to chew up as a toddler on his arms.

“ _I thought you threw those out.”_ She asks, surprised.  “ _Cus they were dirty_.” Locus doesn’t look at her when he answers her question.

“I lied.”

A night passes. Then another. More voices, more yelling. A man in grey and yellow armor shouting at her father and she wants it to stop, there’s too many loud noises, and someone is yelling about scaring her and-

Her father. Looking over her without her helmet. Eyes pained.

“Charlie.”

Charlie blinks. She’s been doing that a lot lately, trying to get the world to stop spinning. Shock, she’ll learn later, when she’s old enough to understand. She reached up and hand and pokes her father’s nose, her mandibles curling inward.

“ _You’re not wearing your helmet._ ”

“I’m not.”

“ _That’s dangerous_.”

 “Yes, it is,” he sits down next to her. He isn’t even holding his helmet, which is odd, because he always has it near him. Always ready to put it on just in case.

“ _Is something wrong_?” Something feels wrong. The same way something felt wrong when a man appeared at their door with a smile like a shark and asked if she could let him inside.

“No,” Locus says. “Nothing is wrong. You’re alright.” His hand reaches out for a second, like he’s going to place it on her forehead, but retracts a second later. “I’m going to have to leave for a few days.”

Charlie starts at that because she just found him again, she found him, after the guy in orange said he was dead in ways she won’t be able to process until years later. She starts to sit up and Locus grabs her shoulder to push her back down on her cot.

“I won’t be gone long,” he says. “I just have to talk to some people. And once we reach an agreement, then you’ll be able to see me.”

If Charlie was a human, she’d pout, but sadly, that option isn’t possible with her elite biology. Instead her eyes just go wide and she makes a sad noise, something that has gotten her places in the past.

“ _Do you have to go now_?”

Locus is silent for a long moment. His shoulder’s slump and she can see his fingers twitch. Then, after he closes his eyes for a moment, his hands curl into fists.

“I should have gone a long time ago.” This time he reaches out to place his hand on her shoulder and squeeze it gently. “Will you behave while I’m gone?”

"Y _es, father_.”

Locus pauses and looks over his shoulder. His mouth curls into a frown and he lets out a sigh before turning back to her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Something he does only when she has the worst dreams.

“ _l love you. Remember that_.” He says it in Sangheili.  Charlie nods.

“ _Love you too_.”

With that, Locus gets up. Heads for the door.

Charlie’s last memory of that night is flash of aqua armor when her father opens the door.

* * *

Her name is Charlie, and she needs to stop practicing so early in the morning.

The practice sword in her hand feels heavy, and when she pivots on one foot to hit the training dummy before her, it’s with none of the precision she knows she’s capable of. She takes a step back to try for another shot, aiming for the heart, and when the wooden sword lands a few centimeters off from her mark, it’s a clear sign she needs to take a break. She can almost hear Uncle’s voice in her ear, telling her to relax before she passes out and has to get carried home.

She’s like her father in that way. Stubborn. Unaware of her own limits until it’s too late.

She puts down the sword, resting it in front of the dummy. Back when Junior used to practice with her, before he went off into space on some crazy mission that Charlie was sure he only took to meet girls, he’d always try to stab the wooden sword into the training floor, like some dramatic Earth hero they always saw in movies. He never succeeded, the floors were too good to relent to wooden blades,  but she could still see the scratch marks on the floor.

Lavernius Tucker Junior, drama king of the galaxy. He is like his father in that way; bombastic in public and far too soft in the center.

Charlie misses him.

She walks over to the benches, sitting down next to them, since they can’t support the weight of an Elite. It’s silly how they haven’t put in benches for her yet, since she’s the only one who uses this room. After all, no one wants to practice with the daughter of a man who almost slaughtered a world.

She sighs. Reaches for her pack, hand stitched and bright pink. A gift from Uncle Donut. It’s ridiculous, but she hasn’t the heart to replace it.     

Once the pack is over her shoulder, she heads out of the training room, leaving the wooden sword behind her.

* * *

Her father lies to her that night when she is almost six; she does not see him until a month later.

It seems like the longest month of her young life.

She can remember it far too well for her liking. Being ushered from place to place, DNA tests, people asking her questions over and over in different ways while she sat in a chair far too small for her alien frame.

“Did your father ever hit you?”

“How often did your father leave you alone?”

“Have you ever been scared of your father?”

“Don’t you want to go to a Sangheili embassy instead?”

“Do you remember anything about being taken by him?”

The answers are the same every time; no, only when he had to and not for long, never, no, he wore orange stripes and his voice sounded like smoke, what do you mean you weren’t talking about him?

The places they put her are no better for the first two weeks, labs, then random homes where she is switched constantly, then government buildings who whisper “this is a mess” when they think she can’t hear. It takes what seems like an age for them to release her to the colorful soldiers she met earlier, and even then, they can’t seem to leave her alone for more than two days without wanting to ask more questions.

The one with red hair snaps at them first. Charlie can remember her words perfectly.

“She is a child! If you want answers, ask her father!”

It will be a long time before she understands why the woman was so upset.

Junior helps, as do his dad and his friends, who she will one day call Uncles and Aunts. They keep her distracted, as distracted as a distressed child can be. They’re not like her father, far too loud and energetic to remind her of home, but the difference sometimes lets her forget what she’s missing.    

The visitor with news of her father doesn’t come till the end of the month.

Charlie peers at her when she enters, a woman a little older than her father, with dark skin and greying hair. When she looks at Charlie, her smile looks forced. “Hello. You must be Charlie.”

Those are the only words they exchange before Aunt Carolina and Uncle Tucker drag her into the kitchen and send Junior to babysit her. It only took her fifteen minutes to escape her chaperon so she could eavesdrop.

“Are you sure about this, Carolina?” The stranger's voice was a odd mix of angry and confused.

“I am.” A pause. “It’s just a visit, Kimball.”

There was a longer beat of silence. The stranger’s voice sounded angrier now. “You know what he is. You know what he’s done. And you just want to give him what he wants?”

The next time Aunt Carolina spoke, she sounded furious. It reminded Charlie of her father’s voice echoing through a ship months ago, cold and icy, as he yelled at a man with an orange helmet. “I want to give his daughter what she wants; a fucking conversation with her father. So unless you want to punish her for existing, I suggest you find a way to make it happen.”

The stranger left after that. One week later, they got visitor’s passes to the local prison.

* * *

Her name is Charlie and she’s been learning to be a sniper for the last six months.

Only one person knows about that last part, and it isn’t her father.

Aunt Carolina is waiting for her when she reaches the practice grounds, a small field far off from town so no one might be foolish enough to get in the way. The targets are set up already, paper men hung up on wooden fences across the way. Carolina herself is sitting at table when she arrives, cleaning a rifle Charlie recognizes as her favorite.

“You’re late,” Carolina says, without looking up. Charlie shrugs off her backpack, placing it under the bench.

“Got caught up in sword practice.”

Carolina, tucks a strand of her greying hair behind her ear. “They aren’t going to accept that excuse in basic.”

“Good thing I’m not in basic then.”

It is only years of practice that stop her from flinching when Carolina shoots her one of her practiced glares.

They head to the field after that. Practice goes the same as usual, and this time, Charlie’s aim is almost better than usual, hitting all the targets instead of missing one or two shots. It’s a massive improvement from when she first started. In fact, she’s almost a natural.

Carolina never comments on where that skill could have come from. She knows better from personal experience.     

“Have you told him yet?” She says after practice is done. The guns are stored again, the box where they’re locked sealed tight. Charlie lifts up her backpack and places it back over her shoulder.

“Telling him tonight.”

“How you think that’s gonna go?”

Charlie doesn’t answer, gripping her backpack tight. She has a very good idea how it will go, and such a conversation she feels won’t end well. It’s the reason she’s been putting it off for the last five months.

“Good luck,” Carolina says.

Charlie will likely need it.

* * *

The first time she sees her father in prison, he’s behind a glass wall, his hands are chained together and he has a black eye.

It is not the ideal way for a six year old to see her father again.

“ _Father_!” She runs into the room at full sprint, paying no attention to how the guards tighten their grips on their weapons. Carolina does all the noticing for her, glaring at both men until they stop looking like they’re about to combust. Charlie almost crashes into the glass, both of her hands touching the glass and she jumps up and down at the sight of her father’s smile.

_“Father, Father!”_

“Hello, Charlie,” Locus says, sounding both fond and tired. He looks to Carolina with a stern expression on his face. “Agent Carolina.”

“What’s with the black eye?” Carolina asks. There’s an edge to her voice. Locus shrugs in response.

“Fight with a fellow prisoner. He had some choice words on my upcoming visitor. I made it clear that would not be tolerated.” He looks to Charlie and smiles. “How are you?”

Charlie promptly bursts into tears.

She tells him everything, from the new places, to the questions, to the nightmares she has about the man in orange that just won’t leave her alone. Locus listens to them all, growing still in some parts, but otherwise encouraging her to share more of the tale. When she gets to the tale of the Reds and Blues, he seems to relax a little, his hands no longer in fists.

“ _Uncle Donut got me crayons_ ,” Charlie says. “ _I ate a few, and that was a bad idea. My stomach hurt afterwards but I also drew a picture of you with the green ones. I couldn’t eat those because I needed them to draw you, and Uncle Donut put it on the fridge!_ ”

Locus shakes his head, but his smile grows a little wider. “An artist. That’s a surprise.”

“ _Uncle Donut says I’m really good!_ ” She wraps her hands together and bounces on the balls of her feet, almost like a human child. “ _You can see them when you get home_!”

She can feel the mood in the room change at once, like the temperatures dropped by the power of her words. her father has stiffed where he’s sitting, his hands in fists again, his mouth in a tight line. Charlie tilts her head. “ _Father?_ ”

Locus takes a deep breath. “I’m afraid I have to stay here for awhile.” Charlie’s tears start to come to the forefront again and he rushes to say more. “Don’t cry. You will be allowed to visit every week while I remain here. They will even let you bring your pictures.”

The answer isn’t enough. “ _But when will you get to come home_?”

Locus takes a deep breath. When he speaks, Charlie can sense the lie. “I don’t know.” He looks to Carolina. “Thank you for taking care of her, Agent.”

It will be another two years until Charlie understands that her Father will never come home.

* * *

Her name is Charlie and she is enlisting in the UNSC’s Alien division this summer.

She has yet to tell her father.

When she enters her room that contains her father’s cell, the guards don’t tense up, far too used to her presence now, even though she is much more of a threat than she was a decade ago. The chair she normally sits in is already set up across from the glass wall that separates herself and her father, like she needs protection from the man who raised her all these years. Locus is already sitting in his chair behind the glass wall, and when he sees Charlie enter, his smile is wide enough to break her heart.

She knows what her father wants of her; to be safe. It is all her has ever wanted of her. And here she has gone to join a world of bullets and blood. Just like he did, all those years ago.

“Hello, Father ,” she says, sitting down in the chair. Her father’s cell is not as dire as it was so long ago, the chains gone once they realized he wasn’t going to try to break out. They have even allowed him to hand up photos of Charlie and her childhood artwork in the visitor's room outside his cell.

“Charlie.” He leans forward in his chair. “How has your week been?”

Charlie’s mandibles curl into what is the equivalent of a smile.  

She tells him about the last week, her sword training, her babysitting gig for Aunt Jensen's kids, her part time job helping Carolina clean up her mess of a house. Her father sits enraptured as she tells him ever bit of her life, asking questions and teasing in that way of his whenever she mentions someone in a way that could be seen as romantic. It’s enough to let her forget why she’s here for a moment, enough to let her forget the glass is there, enough to let her remember the old days when her father could give her a hug and nothing could stand in his way.

She does not want her father out of jail, nor does he. She knows his crimes; he needs to serve his time. Her father is not a good man.

But he’s been nothing but a good man to her.

“Charlie,” Locus says when the visiting hours come to a close. His eyes are pinched, and she has never been more aware of how old he’s gotten. “Is something wrong?”

He can read her like always. Charlie takes in a deep breath, ready to tell him, ready for the resounding outburst, but the words don’t come, caught in her throat. The simple explanation she has prepared about helping other people, making a difference, finding out more about where she comes from, vanishes from her brain. The words she hasn’t dared speak out loud, the need to try to fix all the blood her father has shed, will not arrive.

Her name is Charlie and she is still not strong enough to break her father’s heart.

“It’s nothing.” she says at last. Locus takes her for her word, not willing to press. She reaches for her backpack. “I just got to go.”

Locus’ frown increases. “You do not keep secrets from me, Charlie. You know that, right?”

Charlie gets out of her chair. He is wrong. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“There’s nothing to keep, Father.”

And with that, she leaves, Locus’ concerned gaze following her.

* * *

 Her name is Charlie, and she is the half alien, sword fighting, soft-hearted daughter of a war criminal.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
